s of Fontainbleau should one day be known."

We condense into a few sentences this singular narrative, which begins
with an interview demanded by his marshals on the 4th of April 1815,
when he was preparing to move at the head of his army to attack the
Allies. The language of the marshals was emphatic.

"The army is weary, discouraged, disorganised; desertion is at work
among the ranks. To re-enter Paris cannot be thought of: in
attempting to do so we should uselessly shed blood."

Their proposal was, his resignation in favour of his son.

Caulaincourt had already brought him the Emperor Alexander's opinion on
the subject. The envoy had thus reported the imperial conversation:--"I
carry on no diplomacy with you, but I cannot tell you every thing.
Understand this, and lose not a moment in rendering an account to the
Emperor Napoleon of our conversation, and of the situation of his
affairs here; and return again as quickly, bringing his abdication in
favour of his son. As to his personal fate, I give you my word of honour
that he will be properly treated. But lose not an hour, or all is lost
for him, and I shall no longer have power to do any thing either for him
or his dynasty."

Napoleon proceeds. "I hesitated not to make the sacrifice demanded of my
patriotism. I sat down at a little table, and wrote my Act of Abdication
in favour of my son." But on that day Marmont with his army had
surrendered. The Allies instantly rejected all negotiation, after this
decisive blow in their favour. The Act of Resignation had not reached
them, and they determined on restoring the old monarchy at once. On this
the desertion was universal; and every man at Fontainbleau was evidently
thinking only of being the first to make his bargain with the Bourbons.
Napoleon, as a last experiment, proposed to try the effect of war in
Italy.

But all shook their heads, and were silent. He at length signed the
unequivocal Abdication for himself, and his family.

"From the time of my retreat from Russia," said he, "I had constantly
carried round my neck, in a little silken bag, a portion of a poisonous
powder which Ivan had prepared by my orders, when I was in fear of being
carried off by the Cossacks. My life no longer belonged to my country;
the events of the last few days had again rendered me master of it. Why
should I endure so much suffering? and who knows, that my death may not
place the crown on the head of my son? France was